


At The Park

by yourebrilliant



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Broody, Divorce, F/M, Feisty, Humour, Redeemed, Romance, post—hogwarts, snarky
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-28
Updated: 2012-12-28
Packaged: 2017-11-22 19:00:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,178
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/613169
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yourebrilliant/pseuds/yourebrilliant
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He only sees her on Saturdays.</p>
            </blockquote>





	At The Park

He only sees her on Saturdays.

The first time he sees her, he’s standing on the edge of a park watching the weekend fathers play with their children. It’s a wizard park, protected for the sake of wizards and Muggles alike from the wild bursts of childish magic. In light of his recent conversation with his wife, it seems likely he’ll be spending his Saturdays here until his son is old enough to attend Hogwarts. His mind shies away from the future he currently faces, and he finds himself looking around for a distraction from his thoughts.

She is just entering the park as he turns, wearing a long red winter robe and holding the hands of two youngish children. The daughter is about six or seven, the same age as his son, the boy is a little younger, five, maybe. Oblivious to the complex feelings of adults, he abandons his mother as soon as he catches sight of his father, but the daughter stays closer, clearly torn between the two. Her mother leans down and whispers something to her, stroking her hair and hugging her tight before sending her off to her father. As the woman straightens, he finds himself captivated by her, unable to look away from the naked emotions on her face. She is confusing. From her features he would guess she’s about the same age as him. Her figure is mostly hidden beneath her red robes and her hair, wildly curly in a way that gives him déjà vu, is mostly a rich, lustrous brown. Except... Except for a thick band near the front of her head which is completely white. Just as shiny and curly as the rest of her hair, but snowy white.

He is so focused on deducing her age that he doesn’t notice right away that _she_ ’s watching _him_. Out of the corner of her eye at first, but as he continues to stare, she turns her head slightly to get a better look at him. Embarrassed to be caught watching, he turns away from her, and catches sight of the father of her children. He is rising from a crouch, his children clinging to his hands as she approaches. Age has not darkened this man’s rich hair colour, and the Weasley red is as noticeable now as it was on the first day of school. Shocked, his eyes flicker from Weasley to the woman as he realises who she must be. Hermione Granger. Weasley, now. Or is it? He wonders, as he watches them talk, what their relationship is now. Their body language is casual, stances relaxed and open, but there’s something awkward about the exchange. Although he can’t hear the words, he can see in the way she keeps her hands in her pockets and the way he maintains his distance, that they are not happy. Not to mention their location; this is the playground of failed marriages.

After a few moments exchange, she smiles sadly at him, kisses both of her children, and waves goodbye. He watches, transfixed, as she walks, not back the way she came, but over to him. It’s not a vast distance, and before he can marshall his thoughts, she is standing near him, her hands still in her pockets, her head tilted up as she regards him curiously.

‘Draco,’ she says, after a moment. From her it is more than a name. It’s a benediction.

He clears his throat. ‘Hermione,’ he says eventually. A smile flickers at the corner of her mouth.

‘What are you doing here?’ she asks, lifting her hands out of her pockets to gesture to the cold park around them.

He shrugs, the feelings of rage and betrayal washing over him again. ‘Contemplating the future,’ he mutters, scowling unconsciously.

She studies him for a moment, staring at him in return for his earlier scrutiny, as she weighs his words. ‘Join the club,’ she says eventually, her tone conciliatory and playful. She extends a hand to him and he stares at it for a moment, blindsided by her manner.

‘Thank you,’ he manages, encompassing her mittened hand with his cold fingers for one, brief moment before jamming them back in his robe pockets. ‘I’m...not sure of the rules of this club,’ he admits.

She considers making a Muggle joke but manages to bite it back. ‘There aren’t any,’ she says at last. ‘We’re all just...making it up as we go.’

He nods, processing this information. He wants to thank her for her kindness, to apologise for the past, but he has no idea where to begin.

‘Well,’ she says, after a moment, ‘I’ve got a day off to be getting back to,’ she smiles hesitantly at him, ‘and you...are you going to be okay?’

He looks at her, feeling her words dropping like rain on a vast lake, rippling through his shock to bring him back to life. ‘Yes,’ he says quietly. ‘I’m going to be okay.’

 

Weeks pass before he sees her again. Weeks in which his divorce is splashed across every paper except the Quibbler. Weeks in which his world is irreparably changed, and he wonders if his words to her were foolish and brash. And then, just as he’s struggling with his first weekend visit, there she is. Dropping her kids off with Weasley again, smiling bravely for her children. He can see their parentage clearly now. The girl is a perfect copy of Hermione, like a portal back in time. The boy is saved Weasley’s trademark hair but is covered in freckles and has that wild, oblivious joy that comes only from his father. He is bouncing between his parents now, hanging onto each of their hands as they make arrangements.

Reminded of his own son, he scans the play area until he spots the shock of blond hair that rests atop his boy’s head. His son waves, beaming at him in a way he half remembers from his own childhood as he plays with the other children.

‘So it is natural,’ a voice comments from beside him. ‘I always wondered.’

‘Pardon?’ he says, caught off guard by her arrival. His eyes flicker to the other side of the park where Weasley is just leaving.

‘The hair,’ she clarifies, tugging one of her curls in emphasis. Once again, his eyes are drawn to that white streak, and he wonders if he’ll ever find out why she has it.

‘You thought I was dying my hair,’ he comments. ‘At eleven?’

She shrugs. ‘Not thought, just...

‘...Wondered,’ they say together. For a moment there is silence, and then he answers her question.

‘Yes, it’s natural.’ He sighs.

‘What?’ she asks, breaking into his melancholia.

‘I almost wish it wasn’t,’ he comments. ‘It’s somewhat distinctive,’ he adds.

She watches him. ‘So?’

‘So?’ he repeats, stunned. ‘So, it marks him as a Malfoy!’

She shoves her hands into her pockets again, a half smile on her face as she watches his son. ‘You forget,’ she says, ‘that’s not a bad thing anymore. _You_ changed that,’ she adds, nudging him with her elbow.

‘You think so?’ he asks softly.

She stops watching his son to look up at him. ‘Yes,’ she says simply.

He opens his mouth to respond.

‘Daddy!’

He turns back to see his son bouncing up to him. Grinning at his son’s infectious smile, he reaches down and ruffles his hair. ‘Having fun?’ he asks.

He nods vigorously. ‘I went on everything! And I let Calum go on the swings first because he let me on the slide.’

‘Very good,’ he says, smiling. ‘It’s good to share.’

Noticing her, his son smiles up at Hermione and says, ‘Hello, I’m Scorpius Malfoy.’

She smiles warmly, no doubt used to precocious children, and reaches down to shake his son’s outstretched hand. ‘Hermione Granger,’ she responds. He notes her return to her maiden name.

Scorpius beams at her.

‘Well,’ she says, still smiling.

‘Day off?’ he asks.

She nods. ‘And you?’ she asks, echoing their last conversation.

He smiles. ‘Yeah.’

She nods and says goodbye to Scorpius. He watches her walk away for a moment, then takes his son’s hand and heads for home.

 

She is late, next time. He can see Weasley on the other side of the park, looking from his watch to the entrance of the park. He thinks about going over but things have never been easy between them. His defection from Voldemort didn’t change the fact that he finds Weasley to be rude and uncouth, or that Weasley finds him to be pretentious and sarcastic. They are not enemies, but they are not friends. Instead, he concentrates on his son, and tries not to watch for her.

‘Okay,’ he says, ‘hold out your hand.’ Scorpius complies, excitement and trepidation evident in his silver eyes. ‘Now say “Up”.’

‘Up?’ Scorpius repeats. The broom wavers on the ground for second and then lies still.

‘Up,’ he repeats sternly. ‘Not a question, Scorpius, it’s a command.’

Scorpius nods distractedly, all his attention on the broom. ‘Up,’ he repeats, his tone firm, and the broom jumps into his hand. His face clears and he beams. ‘Look, Dad!’

‘Well done,’ he says, allowing himself a smile. ‘Now-’ He is distracted by the sound of running feet, and looks up to see her skidding to a halt in front of Weasley. Even from a distance, he can see that Weasley is not happy, and he looks away from their silent discourse. ‘Okay,’ he says, returning his attention to his son. ‘Now, climb onto the broom. Not like that,’ he corrects kindly. Crouching by his son, he gently adjusts his grip. ‘Now, kick off!’

‘Wow!’ Scorpius cries, shocked by the sudden gust of wind as the broom jumps forward. He watches carefully as his son flies higher, hovering just above his head.

‘Looking good, Scorp,’ she says, giving him a thumbs up.

‘Thanks!’ he calls, smiling wildly as he flies in a circle around them.

‘A natural,’ she comments quietly, just to him.

‘I hope so,’ he responds fervently. ‘His mother is...somewhat protective of him.’

‘And you’re not?’ she asks, her tone amused.

‘Not overly,’ he clarifies. ‘Hermione,’ he says, suddenly, almost tripping over the unfamiliar name, ‘why is your hair white?’

She reaches up and winds a finger through the curl. ‘You mean this?’

He nods, half his attention on his son.

She smiles fondly. ‘This is from Rose,’ she admits.

‘Rose? Your daughter?’ he says, shocked.

‘Not on purpose!’ she clarifies, laughing. ‘It just...happened, when I was pregnant. The Healers still don’t know why. Didn’t happen with Hugo,’ she adds.

‘Please tell me Weasley chose “Hugo”,’ he comments.

‘This from the man who named his child Scorpius.’

‘I like Scorpius!’ he says.

She smiles up at his son. ‘I do, too.’

‘Don’t go too far!’ he calls. Scorpius nods, wheeling round and heading back towards them.

‘What about Weasley?’ he asks, as they watch Scorpius return. ‘I’d have thought he’d be putting brooms in your children’s cribs.’

She laughs. ‘He tried. Rose seems to be interested, but I don’t think Hugo’s bothered. Maybe when he’s older.’

‘Not like her mother, then?’ he jibes gently, one eye on Scorpius as he circles round and heads out in the other direction.

She shudders delicately. ‘Can’t get me on a broom for love nor money,’ she declares.

He cocks an eyebrow at her. ‘Really, after all this time?’

She nods firmly. ‘Apparating, Portkeys - Merlin, even _Thestrals_ \- I can manage, but brooms?’ She shudders again. ‘Not for me.’

He watches her calmly. ‘Bet I could change your mind.’

She smiles up at him. ‘I’ll take your bet,’ she responds. ‘But not today,’ she says, regretfully.

‘Another time,’ he says.

‘Another time,’ she promises. ‘Bye, Scorp!’ she calls, waving as she makes her way back across the grass.

He can see his son halt over her shoulder, speaking with her for a moment before she moves on and he flies back.

‘What were you talking about?’ he asks, as soon as Scorpius is in ear shot.

‘She-’

‘Hermione,’ he corrects.

‘Hermione,’ Scorpius amends, ‘was asking how I liked flying. She told me I had a natural talent,’ he adds proudly.

‘And she’s right,’ he responds, smiling warmly at his son. ‘Time for lunch,’ he decides, ‘let me show you how to land.’

 

He is alone this time, standing in his customary spot as he waits for her to arrive. Trying not to watch as she says her goodbyes and hugs her children. Weasley, he notes, gets a warm smile this time, something which seems to confuse Weasley as much as himself.

‘Where’s Scorpius?’ she calls, ambling over.

‘With his grandparents. Maternal,’ he adds, before she can ask.

‘Oh. So, free day?’

He nods.

‘And you chose here?’ She is nervous, he can tell. The knowledge makes him bolder.

‘I’m here to collect on my bet,’ he explains, showing her his favourite broom.

She laughs. ‘Okay, Draco,’ she says warmly. ‘Give it your best shot.’

He smiles. ‘I intend to.’

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by "I'm So Happy I Can't Stop Crying" by Sting.


End file.
